


What it Takes to Come Alive

by Youremyalways



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Scars, slowburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 15:49:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19337647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Youremyalways/pseuds/Youremyalways
Summary: “Time heals all wounds,” She swayed a little as she joked, “Isn’t that what people used to say?”“Maybe,” He conceded, gently moving her fingers a little bit over the scar on her back so they brushed a little bit deeper into the healed flesh, “But not this one.”Clarke shook her head, “Not yet.”





	What it Takes to Come Alive

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all!
> 
> Thanks for checking out my story, first of all! 
> 
> Title is from Rhianna’s ‘We Found Love’
> 
> I just think it’s a really interesting concept that Clarke has all these scars from Primefaya and her time after that, and I really wanted to write about Bellamy’s reaction to that. Enjoy and spread some love! Xoxo

It was becoming a real pain in the ass.

Her shoulder, that is.

She pulled something in it when her and Bellamy left camp to scout the terrain, and it just hadn’t been right since. 

It was passed eleven o’clock now, and Clarke wanted nothing more than to disappear into her sheets and fall deep into the abyss of sleep. But, she couldn’t get her damn shirt off. It was the stupidest thing. Clarke faced grounders, a giant gorilla, hell, even the end of the world- and she couldn’t get her shirt off.

Which led her to asking the most embarrassing question of her life. 

“This might be a really weird question, but do you mind just helping me get my shirt off? Sorry, it’s just with my shoulder, it kind of hurts to reach up. Sorry, no, you know what, that’s a stupid quest-”

“Clarke, I don’t mind.” Bellamy interrupted with a laugh, stepping towards her tent and gesturing with his hand for her to follow him inside, “Come here.” 

Clarke took a deep breath and followed him gratefully, the nerves falling away. Bellamy guided her into her tent, falling down to his knees so he could move comfortably around the tent that rose to half his height. Clarke followed suit, also dropping to her knees before Bellamy gently took her shoulders in his hands and guided her to kneel so that her back facing him. 

He immediately reached forward to grip the hem of her shirt in his fingers, carefully pulling it up. He was careful around her injured right shoulder, avoiding the majority of the muscle and only touching areas around it ever so softly. He got the shirt up and over her left arm and head first, then reaching to slowly pull it down the length of her right arm, which he held straight at a 180 degree angle to stop her shoulder from bending too much. 

“Thank you.” Clarke spoke softly once it was off, reaching forward with her left hand to grab the lighter tee shirt she wanted to change into to sleep.

She held it out to the side for Bellamy to grab, but found herself just holding it with no sign of life behind her.

“Bellamy?” 

Truth was, Bellamy froze the second her shirt was up and over her head. Suddenly the ‘just helping out’ energy shifted and tension filled the room with a mountainous weight. He couldn’t speak or even breathe when the canvas of her skin was revealed. His heart got yanked out of his chest at the sight. Clarke’s entire back and neck were covered in scars. Not even covered, but concealed in scars. They stretched over practically every inch of her flesh like an extra layer of skin. They were long and short, old and fresh, angry and subdued. No human being should ever have this many, nevermind Clarke. Bellamy’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes continued to scan over her stained, milky skin. This was so unfair. 

“What’s wrong?” Clarke asked again, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion as he remained unmoving with her shirt in his hands.

With her back turned towards him, she heard more than saw her shirt fall with a light thud to the grass. Nerves were crawling up her spine quickly, and she suddenly felt very, very naked sitting there in just her bra. She felt like a spectacle under his white hot gaze, and wanted nothing more than to squirm away, but for some reason, she couldn’t move. 

Meanwhile, Bellamy’s breath was quickening. He barely even heard her questions. 

The first thing his gaze locked on was a long, jagged scar snaked down the right side of her neck. It was an unusual looking scar, an odd mixture of bright white and light pink. The skin around it was also slightly discolored, suggesting that it did not heal properly. Bellamy slowly reached up with his right hand and lightly tapped the upper edge of the scar, unable to hold himself back.

“Okay?” He asked when his fingertips first made contact, carefully leaning over Clarke’s shoulder to see her face. 

His touch sent both chills and warmth all down Clarke’s body, and she found herself hesitantly nodding her consent. As new and uncomfortable as this was, she found herself curious for more. Nobody had ever touched her scars except her, and if anyone was going to, well, may as well be Bellamy Blake: The person she knew wouldn’t judge her, and the person who would stop the second she asked him to if it came to that. He felt safe. So Clarke sighed and closed her eyes lightly, giving up power and letting him take it away.

With her permission, Bellamy slowly started to brush his hand down the scar, tracing the jagged line gently with just the tips of his fingers. 

“That one was actually from Madi,” Clarke hummed a little at the memory, conversation helping her deal with the intimacy of the moment, “Well, indirectly. It was around a year after Primefaya, I think. I got a pretty bad burn. It wasn’t worrisome at first, it looked like it was healing, and for a few days it was fine. But, then it got infected. It was really, really bad for a while. I wasn’t sleeping, I wasn’t eating or drinking… It scared the living hell out of Madi. The disgusting scar is the result of a nine year old performing surgery to remove the infected skin, and then sewing it back up. Would’ve been a freaking miracle for that not to scar.” 

“It’s not disgusting.” Bellamy responded, his voice hushed and steady.

Clarke opened her eyes as his fingers continued to lightly trace the raised flesh, pushing a little harder into the skin when he spoke as if to verify his words in her flesh- to confirm their truth. 

“You’re lying, but I appreciate it.” Clarke responded, the anxiety balancing out the humor in her voice.

“Not lying.”

Her heart fluttered. God, she’s been around Bellamy forever, it shouldn’t be possible for her to feel this vulnerable. 

Then his fingers trailed downward, leaving behind the scar on her neck and moving south to an almost circular mark on her right shoulder. This one was much smaller, and less aggravated. It was thin and light pink, with two darker edges at the top that were slightly raised from the rest of the mark.

“How about this one?” Bellamy asked, still just barely touching her, being so gentle.

Clarke didn’t respond for a few seconds, her mind actually having to backtrack and think about what happened with that mark. She tilted her head down a little in thought, mind racing.

“Clarke, just tell me to stop if you’re uncomfortable, I will.” Bellamy suddenly announced when she failed to respond.

“I know,” She smiled a little at the reassurance, continuing with a sigh, “I wasn’t uncomfortable, I just don’t remember much about that one, honestly. Just that I was crying and bleeding. I guess some sort of snake bite? I was asleep when it happened.”

“Did Madi stitch that one, too?” He asked, and there was genuine curiosity in his voice.

She took a deep breath as his finger tickled the top edge of the mark, starting softly, “Uhm, no. That was actually before I met her.”

She felt the second Bellamy’s hand stopped moving. It froze on one place against her skin and didn’t falter an inch. His breath was suddenly audible. Clarke wasn’t sure if it was before and she just didn’t notice, but it certainly was now. 

“I never realized there was significant time between primefaya and you meeting her.” He whispered solemnly, as if ashamed he hadn’t put it together.

Clarke just nodded, not sure how to respond. It made sense that he never really thought about it. Why would he? 

“How, uh, how long?” He stuttered over the question, everything in his voice saying that he didn’t really want to know.

Clarke knew it was something he felt like he needed to know, not wanted to. So she swallowed down the truth and proceeded lightly,

“Not long.”

Which sure, in the grand scheme of things it wasn’t too long. Out of six years, the one year alone didn’t seem all that massive, not even if at the time it felt like forever.

“Now who’s lying?” He said, his words indicating humor, but there was no trace of it in his tone.

“Bellamy, just take it.” She sighed, lowering her head.

She prayed that he would just leave it be. She didn’t want their dynamic to change just because of a number. She didn’t want pity, especially from him. But Clarke never really got what she wanted, did she? 

“Please.” 

The pleading in his tone was the only reason Clarke cracked. Certainly not because he started running his fingers over her shoulder again lightly and the feeling made her instantaneously relax.

“One year.”

She said it so easily and with such nonchalance that she was almost surprised when Bellamy’s breath hitched. He immediately leaned forward and Clarke felt his hand be replaced by his forehead. His dark curls were suddenly tickling the side of her neck as he leaned his head against her shoulder, perhaps searching for stability or assuring himself that she was alive in front of him.

He only stayed in the crook of her neck for a matter of seconds, but it felt so much longer. It was warm and comforting. It felt homely.

When he pulled away it felt like a piece of her went with him. But as soon as his fingers resumed their mapping of her back, she relaxed again. It felt so good, to be able to just be touched like this, to be able to talk about her scars. After all, she never would’ve thought she’d get that opportunity. 

They continued mumbling on about her scars for over two hours. The had quiet moments for the cliff fall, the landslide, the knife. They laughed over the bullet mark from her misfiring and getting shot by her own ricocheting bullet. They smiled a little as she recalled the bear trap scars from Madi on her ankles. 

“In some weird, perverse way, I was sort of happy that there would be scars. I know that most girls want perfect skin, there was a time when I cared about that stuff too, but.. What’s the point in just being hurt on the inside?” Clarke sighed, tilting her head as he danced his fingers along the edges of the bruise on her shoulder. 

“I think you need to stop looking at them as a representation of your hurt, and start looking at them for what they really are.” He said slowly, stopping his fingers and just flattening his palm against her upper back.

“And what’s that?” Clarke asked with raised brows, amused.

Bellamy removed his hands from her back and slowly reached up to grasp her chin in his right hand, gently using that hold to tilt her head towards him so he could look her in the eyes as he stated, “A sign that you healed. To me, every scar is proof of the fact that you survived. That you fought like hell, overcame obstacles, and that you’re here.”

Clarke just stared at him, losing herself in either his words or his eyes, she wasn’t sure. 

She only snapped out of it when Bellamy released her chin and laughed a little to break the tension, looking down at her back once again. They fell into a comfortable silence for another couple of seconds, Clarke easily leaning into his touch.

That was until his fingers landed on the skin of her right lower back. Her entire body stiffened, and on instinct she reached back and grabbed Bellamy’s wrist, yanking it away. 

It was the biggest scar on her body, wide and long. It stretched from her hip to her mid back, sort of bumpy and raised. It was light and dark, with shades of pink swirling in circles throughout the mark. It was the most faded scar as well, the lightest in color but the largest in scope and apparently severity. 

“I’m sorry.” Bellamy immediately apologized, eyes wide as he threw both hands up in surrender.

“It’s okay, it’s fine.” She winced, feeling guilt course over her body, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… react like that. I just… I haven’t even touched that one.” 

Bellamy nodded as tension filled the air again.

“It’s the first one I got after… after you guys went up,” She started hesitantly, voice shaky.

“Clarke, you don’t have to-”

“Yes I do,” She cut him off again, a single tear cutting down her pale cheek.

He watched with sad eyes and knitted brows as she stumbled over her words, heart aching to make it all go away.

“After the death wave hit, I thought I was dead. I really did. I ran back to the lab from the satellite, just hoping to get back in time. But, my helmet cracked. By the time I got back to the lab it was too late. I was covered in radiation burns, and I mean covered. I couldn’t walk for a few days, the friction was so bad. Eventually I was able to treat them with some chemicals and stuff in the lab. The giant splotch on my back is the only spot I couldn’t really reach, so it scarred, of course. I haven’t even looked at it for… hell, six years. A lot of the other scars are physically worse, but that one just has so much emotional weight on it. It reminds me of… that day, that experience… losing so many people I cared about.” 

Bellamy remained silent, reaching up to grab her hand in his, bringing it down to the edge of the scar and pressing her hand down on it gently and slowly. He pressed his hand down on top of hers, carefully guiding her fingers to spread out over the skin. He moved as slow as he could, indicating that she could stop him at any time. She took a few short, quick breaths, but allowed him to keep going. 

“I have walked a stair of swords,” Bellamy broke the quiet with a whisper, ”I have worn a coat of scars. I have vowed with hollow words. I have lied my way to the stars.” 

Clarke just hummed, closing her eyes. 

Bellamy took her silence as his que to continue, explaining, “It’s just this quote, Catherine-”

“Fisher, yeah.” Clarke nodded, opening her eyes and twisting her head back to look at him, “I read Incarceron.”

“You read Incarceron?” Bellamy asked, surprise and laughter evenly coating his tone.

“Don’t sound so shocked! I was a prisoner in isolation on the ark, I got bored and lonely! I could only draw for so long!” Clarke laughed. 

And he laughed too, shaking his head in disbelief and admiration. He loved seeing her like this, without the weight of the world on her shoulders. Every once in awhile he got a little glimpse of it. He swore he could get drunk off of seeing her just happy. That’s how he knew the millisecond that expression fell from her face and was replaced with solidarity. Because it physically hurt.

“What?” He asked, the smile starting to fall from his own face in worry.

“Nothing.” Clarke started, shaking her head softly and furrowing her eyebrows, brushing off her next words, “Nothing, I just… I never really realized how much of my life I spent… alone.”

Bellamy let out a deep, formidable breath and closed his eyes, steadying himself. Those words felt like a punch directly to his gut. 

“I hate it.” He gritted out through clenched teeth. “I can’t tell you how many times I wished it was you in space and me down there. I’m so so-”

“Uh uh, no apologies,” Clarke cut him off, “Not from you, and not about that. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. Besides, I’m not alone anymore.” 

“Never again.” He promised with such confidence that Clarke really believed it. 

“Time heals all wounds,” She swayed a little as she joked, “Isn’t that what people used to say?” 

“Maybe,” He conceded, gently moving her fingers a little bit over the scar on her back so they brushed a little bit deeper into the healed flesh, “But not this one.”

Clarke shook her head, “Not yet.”

Bellamy nodded in understanding, slowly removing his hand from Clarke’s back and taking hers with it, drawing both back to his side. He then leaned down and replaced where his hands used to be with his lips. Clarke stiffened just a little when she felt him press a kiss to her skin. It was new and unnatural. She didn’t even know how to respond at first.

But he kept going. He outlined the blotch with pecks, then moved up to the scars lining her lower back, mid back, and upper back, stopping for a second before he reached the one on her neck. Like that was the limit. When he kissed that one, this became something else.

His lips pressed down.

“What are you doing?” Clarke immediately asked, heart racing.

“Honestly?” He sighed, pressing another kiss a little further up her neck before pulling away and saying, “What I’ve wanted to do since that damn dropship.”

“The dropship?” Clarke questioned with mild disbelief, even as she tilted her head to give him more access to his neck, “If I remember that correctly, I left you out there to die, I closed the door. That’s hardly a good memory.”

Clarke remembered of course, every single second. Some of her memories have faded over the years of making new ones, but ones like that never even began to tarnish. They were burned into her brain. The dropship, mount weather, Lincoln’s death. 

“It’s also the first time I thought I lost you.” He rebutted, words solemn.

He pressed another kiss a little further up her neck, following the long scar with his lips.

“The first of so, so many.”

“Bellamy…” Clarke started, her voice low.

“I’m so sick of that, aren’t you?” He pulled away fully, “Every time I think your gone a piece of me goes with you. I don’t want to feel like that anymore. I just want to be here, with you, and not have to think about losing you, or seeing you d-”

“Hey,” She turned around so she was actually facing him for the first time, “I’m right here.”

Bellamy nodded, but his face and voice screamed disbelief, “I’m so grateful for that, I am. It’s just with the way we live, you never know what’s going to happen, and it scares me to death that-”

“Look at me.” Clarke instructed, and when he didn’t comply, she reached for his chin and tilted his face upwards to make him do so, “Hey, look at me.”

Clarke saw his eyes getting dark, fear and trauma passing like storm clouds over his irises. 

“Bellamy, we have both faced so much, but I would like to hope that by now I have proven to you that I am pretty decent at surviving. You too. You think I don’t freak out every time you leave camp? But, I trust your instincts. I know you’ll do what it takes to survive. I mean, what the hell were the odds that you and I would end up here, alive, after everything? The fact that we are must mean something, right?” 

“I guess,” he shrugged, “and you have proven that. But it doesn’t stop me from worrying.”

“It shouldn’t, okay? It’s human to worry. I just want you to know that no matter what, no matter where we are, or what stupid things we get ourselves in to, I will always, always fight to get back to you. With every fiber of my being.” 

Bellamy let out a relieved and awe-filled breath, closing his eyes for a second before opening them once again and leaning forward. He reached out with his hand, bringing it up to cup her cheek. As he smoothed his thumb from the tip of her chin to the middle of her pale cheek, he leaned forward the rest of the way and met her lips. 

They sat frozen for a moment, just letting the surprise and relief crash over them like waves. Once the shock faded, Clarke made the first move. She reached up with her own hand and curled her hand around the back of his neck, interlocking her fingers in his dark curls. With the newfound grip, she pulled him the slightest bit forward, urging him on. 

Bellamy reacted quickly after that, bringing his other hand up to her lower back, the side without the scar, and spreading his fingers over the skin. He pulled his mouth away before surging forward again, fitting his lips perfectly around her bottom lip, each time they met again it felt like a puzzle connecting. He moaned a little into her mouth, not out of arousal but out of pure happiness, pure content. This was just so right. 

Her hand moved up in his hair, pulling at his locks. Just as their tongues entered the mix, Clarke started to instinctually raise her other hand up to his neck, needing to feel connected in every way possible.

She let out an agonized scream and reached away from Bellamy, whose eyes were becoming comically wide, to grasp her shoulder in her hands. She let out a pained, haggard breath as she held the throbbing muscle.

“Did I hurt you?!” He immediately asked, both his voice and his face mortified as he started to back away slightly, as if scared of himself.

“No, no, of course not!” Clarke reassured, “It’s my shoulder, I kinda… forgot about it.” 

“Oh,” He stated, raised eyebrows, and then his mortified look faded into a smirk as he teased, “Am I that distracting?”

“Shut up and get back over here.” Clarke rolled her eyes, reaching forward with her good hand and pulling at his collar.

There faces met only a mere inch apart, and just as Clarke leaned forward to get back to what they were doing before, Bellamy leaned back ever so slightly, resting his forehead against hers.

“Wait, seriously, are you okay?” He asked, genuine concern in his voice.

Clarke laughed out loud. She couldn’t help it. This guy was too much. She’s literally at his fingertips to make out with, and he stops to ensure she’s okay. God, she loves this man. She really, truly loves him. But that’ll best be said at another time.

“I’m good. I’ll be better if you’d kiss me.” She raised her eyebrows.

“Well, if that’s the cure…” He shrugged with a smile, leaning forward again and pressing his lips to hers.

Somehow they ended up with Bellamy on his back, Clarke hovering above him, settling her weight on her elbows so her shoulder was relieved. She continued brushing her fingers through her hair, and he continued worshiping her face and neck, tracing her scars and leaving kisses on her healed wounds. They didn’t know how long it went on for, nor did they care. Not until…

“So, why am I the only one without a shirt on?”


End file.
